No Country For Young Love
by Selmersaurus
Summary: It is five years after the end of the Civil War and President Grant is desperate to settle the Wild West, so he sends 100 young criminals as guinea pigs against the complete unknown. Political prisoner Clarke Griffin and former spy Bellamy Blake find themselves forced to lead the rag tag group of misfits through the wilderness in order to survive. Can they resist fate?
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for later chapters. Mostly canon relationships, except for eventual Bellarke. I own nothing!

*Note: Westward expansion as we know it did not happen in this alternate universe. Any movement beyond the Mississippi did not occur until after the Civil War, so at the time this story takes place, the West is still completely wild and unexplored. No Lewis and Clark, no Trail of Tears, no French trappers, no missionaries, no Conquistadors, no knowledge of what's out there at all.

I feel the sun on my face. I see trees all around me. The scent of wild flowers on a breeze. It's so beautiful. In this moment, I can pretend I'm not shut away in this muggy cell. It's been 5 years since Mr. Lincoln freed the slaves and was killed for it. The Union has come out the victor, but the sheer number of casualties on both sides have destroyed an entire generation of Americans, leaving a pall of defeat over everything. Despite almost everyone I know joining the fight, I survived, along with the other 99 juvenile prisoners currently under lock and key in Ark Penitentiary, a former POW camp turned "rehabilitation" center for criminal and insane youths. We're told there's nothing left for us in the East, that our crimes can't be forgiven, that we have given up our human rights through our misdeeds, and that a life in prison is the most we can hope for. But still I dream of standing with nothing above me but sky and nothing surrounding me but the sounds of the Earth, far away from the noises of cell block A. This is the reality. Reality sucks.

I come out of my reverie when one of the regular guards swings the door of my cell open. "Prisoner 391, face the wall."

I move to comply, but when he reaches for my wrists to shackle me, I resist. I haven't had to be put in restraints for months now. There's only one reason I can think of that they're going to move me, and pardon my French, but I'm not ready to fucking die. Standing as still as I can, I wait until the guards have flanked me. I make a quick jerking movement towards the one standing in front of me, causing him to bring up his club. I use his forward momentum to knock him into the guard standing behind me and as the two of them grapple with each other, I sprint out of the open door. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses, but let's just say it's been a really long time since I've seen anything outside of those walls and I panic for a moment, unsure of which direction to run. Hearing voices coming from my left, I swerve down the dark tunnel to my right, feeling my heart kicking against the inside of my ribs. As I turn the second corner, I'm brought to an immediate stop by a young guard I've never seen before and who looks just as surprised as I am. I try to push by him, but he pulls my wrists behind me and pushes me against the wall.

As footsteps quickly approach us, I can feel the shackles clamp around my wrists and the panic I was feeling changes, sliding down and settling into my stomach as a pool of dread.

"Good work detaining the prisoner, Private Blake. I'll take it from here," says one of the guards from earlier as he pushes me in front of him. I notice the new guard watching me, waiting to see how I'll react. It's amazing how being alone doesn't mean having privacy. I straighten my spine and keep my head forward, refusing to let this new guy see how scared I am. If this is it and they've finally decided it's not worth feeding me, no matter what public opinion is, then fuck it. They won't see me sweat.

I'm brought out of the subterranean cells into the harsh light and I squint my eyes against the pain. I recognize the voice of Harold Dwight, the administrator of the prison, floating across the yard. It looks like the whole damn cell block is standing within the wooden stockade. "Alright, listen up, criminals! You are under the direct order of the government of the United States of America. You have been granted leniency, but it comes at a cost. Under no circumstances are you allowed to return east of the Mississippi before your ten years of labor are through! If you fail to comply with these orders, you will be thrown back in prison with no option for parole! For those of you who are having trouble following me, this means that you are a bunch of lucky bastards! Undeservedly, you are being given a second chance to be a useful member of society!"

The voices of the kids around me are starting to rise. Exclamations of dismay meet enthusiastic cries and I'm startled by the guard behind me sliding a letter into my hand.

"Hold onto this. Read it when you wake up." The next thing I know, he swings the butt of his rifle towards my face and everything goes black.

* * *

I come to sitting down, with a cracker jack headache. I can tell from the way my body is being jostled around that not only am I not alone, but I'm also probably on a train. The last time I rode on one didn't go too well, but I'm trying not to think about that right now. I lift my head as I hear a voice from my left.

"Welcome back."

I freeze as I recognize the young man sitting right next to me. Wells. The last person I want to see. I'm unnerved by the way he's looking at me, so I snap, "Wells, why the hell are you here?" It's not really the question I want to hear him answer, but it's the more practical one.

"When I found out they were sending prisoners to the ground I got myself arrested." He explains, as if that is the most normal thing in the world. Leaning towards me he confides, "I came for you."

Just as more malicious words are about to bubble up and spill out of my mouth, there's a loud blast and the car we're riding in is suddenly rocked violently.

"What was that?" The memory of another crashing noise on a different train tries to force its way into my mind.

"That is probably a storm. It's been battering us for at least the last two hours," Wells answers. "What's that?"

I look down at the object in my hand. The letter. I had forgotten about the letter. Ignoring him and his questioning gaze, I slip my thumb underneath the flap of the envelope, pulling lightly until the paper gives way and I can see the tight black script waiting for me.

 _Dearest Clarke,_

 _You've been given a second chance. President Grant has appointed Chancelor Jaha to oversee the settling of the West. It is Jaha's hopes that this will not only be seen as a second chance for you, but as a second chance for our broken nation and mankind itself. We have no idea what is waiting for you out there. If the odds of survival were better, they would have sent others. Frankly, they're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable in the eyes of the government. But you are not expendable to me. The rules have changed. This gives you a chance to live. Your instincts will tell you to take care of everybody else first, just like your father. But be careful. I can't lose you too. I love you so much. West, Clarke. You get to go West._

 _Always,_

 _Your Mother_

A lump forms in my throat as I think of the last time I saw my mother. The look of pain on her face as I was dragged away. I won't see her again for another decade. And that's if I survive. With this thought, I start scanning the rest of the train car, wondering what we've been given to survive with.

"There's nothing in here but other people, but I think I heard there's an attached supply car."

"So who's driving this thing?" I ask.

"Nobody. They fueled it up at the last depot and now it's going out as far as it can go. Some end of the line town in Nebraska that the railroad wasn't able to sustain when the war started. Then it's up to us to make our way into Colorado Territory."

A boy sitting across from me, who has been glaring at Wells, speaks up. "How does it feel to have your father's lips permanently attached to President Grant's ass?"

Laughter rolls down the line of kids and Wells grimaces. It's not his fault his father was given a difficult task by the president. What is his fault is that both Wells and his father cost me the person who meant the most in the world to me. My attention is pulled away when I notice a boy with shoulder-length brown hair has gotten himself free from his chains and is roaming around the unstable car.

"Hey!" He yells, wandering towards me. "You're the traitor who's been in solitary for over a year!" Thanks, genius, I wasn't aware of that.

"And you're the idiot who wasted an entire winter's rations on some useless party."

He thinks for a second before acknowledging my insult. "Yeah. But it was fun. I'm Finn." And then he smiles. It's smiles like that that let you know when someone is going to be trouble. And I have a feeling the trouble hasn't even started yet.

"Clarke, there's something I have to tell you." My mind is dragged back to Wells. I guess a reminder of why I shouldn't trust anybody here might not be such a bad thing. "I'm sorry I got your father arrested…"

I cut him off immediately. "Do not. Talk. About my father."

"I can't die knowing that you hate me!"

"They didn't arrest my father, Wells. They executed him! I _do_ hate you!" I take a deep breath as my heart constricts. Just thinking of him hurts. Luckily, I don't have too long to dwell on it when a loud whining noise cuts off my train of thought. Next thing I know, I feel one small thump and then my world is turned upside down. My body is jerked forward, the only thing holding me in place are the shackles around my wrists. My body smashes into the side of the car as we tumble over and over and over, my arms twisting painfully in the chains, until with a loud crash the movement stops.

And everything is silent. I slowly lift my head and wince at the pain that shoots up my spine. Not good, but it could be worse. I roll over and push to my feet, slowly working the pegs on the iron clasps around my wrists out. The chains drop to the floor and I rub my wrists lightly.

The door to the car is suddenly pulled back and light streams in. Standing in the entryway is a guard. Wait. I've seen him before. It takes me a moment to realize it's the same guard who stopped me from escaping back at Ark Penitentiary!

"Bellamy?" A tentative voice from further back in the darkness.

The guard stops himself from walking away and turns back around slowly. Something weird is going on, but I don't know what. The guard climbs into the car and rushes over to a girl with long brown hair. "O? My god! Look how big you are!" He helps her remove the cuffs and pulls her into his arms.

"What are you doing here? And what the hell are you wearing? A guard's uniform?" she asks, her disdain evident.

"I borrowed one to get onto the train." He smiles affectionately down at her. "Someone's got to keep an eye on you."

It's nice that they're having a moment and all, but enough's enough. I can see that the train crash has left more than one person injured. "These people could use your help," I state simply.

The brown-haired girl turns around and rolls her eyes. "Do you mind? I haven't seen my brother in a year."

"So what?" another kid yells. "My brother got blown up at Siege of Petersburg!"

"That's Octavia Blake! The girl whose Reb mama kept her under the floorboards!" adds another kid.

At this, the brown-haired girl's face turns vicious and her body moves forward quickly towards one of the kids before being brought up short by her brother.

"Octavia? Octavia. No. Hey, let's give them something else to remember you by," he says while trying to turn her face away from the others. "Like being the first American to reach the West." They smile at each other and I can tell they're communicating wordlessly. For a moment I forget about what the hell just happened and I wonder what it would be like to have someone love me enough to follow me into the unknown. Then I remember Wells and I shudder.

"Wait!" I yell as Bellamy hops out of the car and helps his sister hop down. "What about the injured?" I hop out of the car after them and stop immediately.

Suddenly, everyone is rushing past me, flying out of the train and into the untouched fields surrounding us. Moisture and pollen and light seems to reflect off of everything as almost a hundred pairs of boots race through the grass.

The sounds. Oh my god, the sounds are incredible. And the way everything smells. All I can smell is grass and trees and wind. And the air is clear and rushes into my lungs like cold water rushing over a waterfall. My mind spins as I try to hold all of these sensations in my lungs, trying to identify each smell and remember when I last felt so free. The buzzing of insects and crickets and the chirping of birds and sound of wind brushing leaves against each other fills my head. For a moment, I feel free. I feel hope.

But as I look around me, I also recognize nothing. The field we're is surrounded by woods and I have no idea what's waiting for us.

Finn comes to stand next to me. "Why so serious, Princess? It's not like we died in a fiery explosion."

For the moment I think about kicking him in the groin, just for ruining this wonderful moment. "Try telling that to the two injured kids back in the train."

"You don't like being called Princess. Do you, Princess?" Wow, he's a quick one.

"I don't give a shit about a nickname, Finn. We're in the wilderness and almost all of our supplies just got ruined in a train crash. We've got nothing."

His face drops as he takes in what I've just said. Yeah. Let's see him smile his way out of this one.


	2. Chapter 2

**And now for a little Bellamy POV. I'm obviously not a history buff, so I apologize in advance for how contemporary all of the dialogue is and for how sucky my historical references are! I'm also just straight-up going to make a bunch of things up...sorry! And don't worry, interaction between Bellamy and Clarke is coming. I'm just setting the ground work first.**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

If I had any worries about whether assassinating Chancellor Jaha, stealing onto the convict train, impersonating a guard and becoming a fugitive was going to be worth it, the look on my sister's face when she steps off of the train is enough to quiet every doubt in my mind. I haven't seen O's eyes light up like that since the night of the carnival. And even though that's the night everything went to hell, I can still think back on it and remember just how beautiful she looked.

So I'm trying to enjoy this moment with my sister when some asshats start kicking up a fuss. I glance over towards the wrecked train car and why am I not surprised that at the center of it seems to be Little Miss Moffett and the yellow bellied Jaha boy. I didn't realize who she was when I ran into her back in the barracks, but I heard talk on the train ride out. I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going because I had just snuck out of the Chancellor's quarters. According to the talk she's the daughter of some high and mighties and family friends with the Chancellor. No wonder the Jaha boy is standing so close to her. I can't blame him. She's striking in an uptight, miss priss sort of way. Although at the moment she looks just as disheveled as the rest of us.

"Hey! Hands off of him, he's with us." John Murphy, a kid with wide-set, sleepy eyes and a manner of quiet malice saunters up to the Jaha boy, who steps back defensively and says, "Relax. We're just trying to figure out where we are."

I cut in. "We're on the ground. That not good enough for you?"

The kid rolls his eyes and I can tell he thinks talking to me is going to be pointless. I'd have to agree. "We need to find Mount Weather," he says, strolling towards me. "It's the only known source of fresh water and fertile hunting ground. My father told me about it before I left. That has to be our first priority."

"Screw your father," Octavia says nonchalantly. "What? You think you're in charge here? You and…your little princess?"

"Do you think we care who's in charge?" We need to get to Mount Weather! Not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait the hungrier we'll get and the harder this'll be." Blondie's starting to draw a crowd. "How long do you think we'll last without food and water? Who knows how long it'll take for us to get there, if it even exists. Okay? So if we want to make any progress before dark we need to leave. Now." Her impassioned speech seems to be slightly swaying the crowd.

"I got a better idea. You two go. Find it for us." I can see Octavia's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "Let the privileged do the hard work for a change." I'm satisfied my words have squashed whatever little agenda the royals were trying to work when I hear a resounding "Yeah!" from the surrounding crowd.

The Jaha boy tries entreating the crowd one last time. "You're not listening. We all need to go!"

"Look at this everybody. The Chancellor of the West!" I laugh as Murphy shoves the boy from behind.

"You think that's funny?"

Murphy takes a step to the side and quickly kicks the boy's legs out from under him. Blondie tries to intervene, but a couple of Murphy's guys restrain her. He kicks the kid once in the gut and the crowd is starting to smell blood. This might just get interesting.

Before things really get started a figure jumps between Murphy and the Jaha boy, saying, "Kid's got one leg. How about you wait until it's a fair fight." Weak. He's just delaying the inevitable. Now that we don't have Uncle Sam watching our every move, fear of the Chancellor's wrath isn't going to hold us back anymore. Frustration built up over years of oppression aren't just going to disappear overnight. No. This kind of frustration will demand payback. And it will be violent. I'm about to intervene when Octavia steps forward.

"Hey, Party Boy. Rescue me next." I can actually feel the tension of the situation dissipate. Too bad it had to come from my sister being an uncontrollable flirt. She catches me watching her making eyes at Finn as he walks away and says, "What? He's cute." Great. This is not how I need her to be acting.

"He's a criminal," I remind her.

"They're all criminals."

"Seriously? Do we need to do this?" I grab her arm and pull her so she's finally giving me her full attention. "Look, O, I came down here to protect you."

Octavia pulls her arm away from me and faces me with her jaw stuck out, just like she used to do when she'd get mad as a kid. "I don't need protecting. I've been locked up, one way or another, all my life. I am done following orders."

Guilt starts to claw it's way through me. I didn't know she felt that way. All I've ever done, since the moment she was born and my mom told me no one could know about her, was try to keep her safe.

"I need to have fun, Bell. I need to do something crazy…just because I can! And no one…including you…is going to stop me."

"I can't stay with them, O."

"Now what are you talking about?"

I take a look around and decide this isn't the kind of thing I can talk about with anyone nearby. Pulling Octavia around to the other side of one of the toppled cars I say, "I did something, okay? Something to get on that train, something they will kill me for when they come down. I can't say what it is just yet, but you have to trust me." I am staring at her, praying that for once I can get through to her and she will listen. "You do still trust me. Don't you?" I let my question hang in the air, waiting for her answer. I can see her letting go of her anger as she takes in how badly I need her to believe in me and she gives me a silent nod.

"Okay. Then I need you to go along with what I do."

"But…" I cut her off with a look.

"No buts. Follow my lead." First things first, establish control. Start giving orders before anyone else gets the chance to. If anyone can do it, it'll be me. Hey…maybe this won't be so bad.

* * *

I can't believe the nerve of these assholes down here. We're dropped into totally foreign territory with an entire world of unknowns and the first thing they want to do is participate in some pissing contest?! I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders a couple of times to loosen the tension, and debate what to do. The two injured kids from the crash need looking after, but I don't have any good medical supplies. Luckily, my time working side by side with my mother at the field hospital has made me pretty good at improvisation. Then there's the issue of Wells. Why did Wells have to come? Who volunteers to be sent into the wilderness to die? He said he did it for me, but that can't possibly be true. He must know that I blame him for my father's death. Does he really think I'll just forgive him? Chewing the inside of my cheek, I kneel down next to him to check out his ankle where Murphy kicked him.

My attention's drawn away by Finn's reappearance. "When do we leave for Mount Weather?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a smile as I silently thank god that someone else around here has a brain. "Right now," I tell him. Turning to Wells, who is sitting in the grass looking forlorn, I say, "We'll be back tomorrow to report what we find. Hopefully with water and some foraged food."

"How are the two of you going to carry enough water for one hundred people?"

Finn considers the question and quickly grabs two young guys standing nearby. "Four people. Can we go now?"

Octavia, probably hoping for another chance to flirt with Finn, comes bounding in saying, "Sounds like a party! Make it five!" I can already see big brother Bellamy frowning and rushing over, grabbing Octavia's arm.

"Hey. What the hell are you doing?"

"Going for a walk," she says dismissively without turning to look at him. I don't have any siblings, so I'm just going to assume that this sort of childish behavior is normal. What isn't normal, though, is what I notice Finn's carrying.

"Is that...a telegraph machine?"

"Yep. Pretty cool, right? I found it in one of the cars." He lifts the metal contraption up for me to see.

"That's actually not exactly a telegraph machine," says one of the guys Finn had pulled forward. He's got black hair and a friendly face. "I'm Monty. And this is a railroadafone. It uses vibrations and an electric current to transmit messages through the metal beams of the railroad. I've never seen one complete, but I know they were working on it before the war ended."

My mind starts whirring a million miles an hour. "So we can use this thing to communicate with the East?"

"So what?" Finn asks.

"Do you want the people you love back home to know whether you're living or dead? Do you want to be able to keep an open line in case of emergencies?" I'm hoping that by the chastened expression on Finn's face that I've talked some sense into him. "Okay. Then let's go."

I watch as Finn, the kids with goggles on his head and Monty start to file off through the tall grass towards the forest waiting for us. As I grab any last minute supplies that I can find, like rope and some twine to help hold my shoelaces together, I look at Wells. His big brown eyes are full of concern and I can tell he's afraid. Part of me wants to tell him everything's going to be okay, but I just can't. He made his choice. As I walk away, Octavia comes up to my side, our strides matching as we weave our way through the grass.

"Before you get any ideas...Finn's mine." I shoot her a glance to see if she's serious.

"Before you get any ideas...I don't care." This is going to be a long day.

* * *

For the last half hour, Wells has been really pissing me off. Here I am, trying to enjoy the peace of mind and freedom that being hundreds of miles away from society can bring, and Killjoy Jaha is waxing poetic about duties and responsibilities.

"We won't survive here on our own. We need farmers, doctors, engineers. Besides, if it really is safe enough that we don't need any help, how could you not want the rest of our people to know?"

"My people…" I gesture to the people standing around us "already are down. Those people?" I point back east. "They locked my people up. Those people…killed my mother for the crime of having a rich man's bastard." My mother's face, desperate and in pain, flashes before my eyes. My innocent little sister, who never did anything wrong except remind a wealthy man of his shame, being torn from her arms.

"Whatever the reasons…we can't forsake the people back home just because we don't like their laws!"

Rage bubbles up through me. "Here there are no laws! Here we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want! Now, you don't have to like it, Wells. You can even try to stop it…change it…kill me. You know why? Whatever the hell we want!"

The kids surrounding us at the fire start chanting. "Whatever the hell we want!"

When the sky opens up in a downpour and Wells tries to tell me we need to set out basins to collect the water, I answer him with, "Whatever the hell you want." I watch him stalk away and for a moment I feel the tiniest twinge of regret. I know I'm being an asshole. And maybe a better man would be working hard right now to make sure that everyone is taken care of. But I can't be that man. I've learned from experience that no one is going to take care of you, but you. And I'm not going to put my life or my sister's life into anyone's hands. Out here, I'm in control, and I need it to stay that way. So let the chaos begin.

* * *

After trekking for the whole day, we have yet to see anything edible. With the way we're clomping around, any potential food has probably already sensed us and fled in the opposite direction. Still, I guess I had hoped that the rumor about the west being a land of bounty was going to mean easy catches. My stomach is rumbling and still there's no sight of small game. We did manage to come across some animal scat, but from the size and shape I have no idea what kind of animal it belongs to. Are there different animals here?

There are so many questions that I have about this place. For the entire walk we've been crossing a flat expanse of sparse forest, filled with plants and smells and sights I've never come across before. How can this all be part of the same continent as home, but be so completely different. I climb a small rise...the biggest one I've come across yet...and in front of me the land slopes down into a shallow gorge, along the center of which runs...Yes! A river! Water!

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Finn's approached me while I've been standing staring at the beautiful blue shimmering ribbon in front of me and I can't help but turn to him and smile. Our eyes meet and I feel the tiniest feeling of hope wash over me. I lean my head back and laugh at the unexpected sensation.

"What do you know? She can laugh."

I look at Finn and a flush of warmth runs over my skin as I take in his appearance. His brown hair is falling over his forehead and he leans his face towards me so that he can see through it. One side of his mouth curls up and I realize just how long its been since I've been looked at like that. How long it's been since I've felt pretty. Noticed. Wanted.

The moment is interrupted by Monty's blood-curdling scream and Finn and I rocket to our feet. Racing to the side of the gorge, I glance down and notice a body floating in the water. It's Jasper. And there's something sticking out of his back. Arrows. And that's when it hits me. We are not alone.

 **Please give me feedback. This is my first real fanfic and I want to make it interesting, which is hard when I'm sticking so close to canon. Is there anything you want to see happen? POVS you're interested in hearing from? Problems for them to run into? Let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 ***Sorry it's taken me a little longer to get this chapter up. I've been struggling with how to adapt the concept of "grounders" into this universe, as well as wanting to start to deviate a bit from the original storyline and script. I'm still going to continue using a lot of dialogue directly from the show, but hopefully things will start to diverge from here. I've also changed Atom's name to Adam because I didn't think anyone in the late 19th century would have that name. No smut in this chapter, but don't worry, it's coming :P**

As Clarke sprints through the trees, the image of Jasper's body floating face down in the water keeps coming back. What the hell happened? Who was that? Is he dead? Should she go back? Or is she being tracked right now? Is there someone following her in the forest, aiming an arrow at her back, waiting for the right moment? Her heart feels like it's going to burst out of her throat with each beat and her legs are cramping, but she's afraid to stop…afraid to give the attackers their chance.

A movement to her right makes Clarke dodge to her left just in time to avoid crashing into an out of breath Finn.

"Are they following?"

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure," Finn says as he bends over with his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. "I haven't seen anything."

"And the others?"

"Who the hell was that, Clarke?"

"I don't…I don't know. There isn't supposed to be anybody out here. It's…it's a fucking no man's land, right? Why would they have sent us if they already knew people were surviving out here?"

"More importantly, why do they want to kill us?" Finn asks, bringing Clarke's thoughts back to Jasper. Poor Jasper.

"Finn, we've got to go back for him."

Finn raises his head and stares at Clarke with total disbelief. "Are you fucking nuts? No. No way. We have to find Octavia and Monty and get back to camp."

"We can't just leave him…"

"He's dead, Clarke."

"We don't know that! And if he is…he deserves a proper burial."

Just as Finn shakes his head, Jasper's scream pierces the forest. Clarke takes off in the direction she came from. Knowing he must be in pain…her instinct tells her he can be saved, but only if she gets there in time. Weaving between the trees, legs and lungs aching, Clarke stops abruptly at the tree line and scans the river for Jasper. But he's nowhere to be found.

As Finn drops into place next to her, he puts his hand on her shoulder. "We need back-up. We have to go back. Come on."

Clarke nods dully, realizing it's probably already too late.

On the walk back to the camp, they eventually meet-up with a terrified Octavia and Monty. Monty's look of anguish when he sees that Jasper isn't with them cuts Clarke to the bone. She let this happen. She should have been more cautious. She shouldn't have run away from him. Old, familiar feelings of guilt wash through her as she remembers all the lives she was never able to save. It hurts more than she can say to add Jasper to the list.

"I thought there wasn't anybody living out here," she says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Monty's eyes meet hers and he clenches his jaws. "I thought natives only lived in the east."

"And didn't they all die from the pox…over fifty years ago?" Octavia asks.

"It makes sense that if the…people…living out here were never in contact with anyone from the east, they never would have gotten the disease," Clarke tries to explain. "Their isolation kept them safe."

"So if they aren't pissed about us getting them sick why do they want us dead?" Octavia asks fiercely. "Not that I'm not used to people wanting me dead for no good reason…"

"We have to try to get him back," Monty says quietly.

Clarke slows down until she's even with him and reaches out to touch his arm gently. "I'll do everything I can to get him back. I promise."

"Promises from the privileged don't mean shit," Octavia spits out angrily, effectively shutting down any conversation for the rest of the hike back to the meadow and the derailed train.

* * *

Wells almost steps on two kids making out in the tall grass while making his way to the campfire. He shakes his head as he thinks about the fact that they're probably going to be covered in ticks. Idiots. The foraging didn't go as well as he had hoped, but he did manage to find a wild blueberry bush.

"Hey, thanks!" Murphy snarks as he reaches his hand out to snag the small pile of blueberries Wells has cupped in the hem of his shirt.

"These aren't for you. They're for the younger kids. Share based on need, just like back home," Wells says, although he thinks it should go without saying.

"You still don't get it, do you chancellor?" Bellamy smirks as he swaggers out of a makeshift tent, shirtless so that everyone can see the gun tucked into his waistband. Ass. Well's eyes widen we he sees a tall girl with long brown hair and tan limbs saunter out of the tent after him, adjusting her blouse. Bellamy pauses to accept an open-mouthed kiss from her before continuing. "This is home now. Your father's rules no longer apply." And with that, Bellamy snatches the blueberries out of Wells's hands. Anger blossoms in Wells chest. There are young kids out here who haven't eaten in god knows how long and this asshole, who's decided he has enough free time for a quick screw, hasn't done anything to help them. Wells moves forwards instinctively to try to take them back, but is blocked by one of Bellamy's minions.

When Bellamy notices Wells's movements, a flicker of amusement passes across his face. "No, no, Adam. Hold on." He moves forward to stand directly in front of Wells...leaning in towards his face. "You want it back? Take it."

Wells considers Bellamy's words. Can hear not only the threat, but the invitation. This is what he wants. He's waiting for a fight and another reason to prove he's in control.

"Is this what you want? Chaos?"

The corner of Bellamy's lips curl up. "What's wrong with a little chaos?"

A young girl comes running into the clearing, the hair from her bun falling down haphazardly and her lower lip bleeding. Her eyes are wild like a rabbit that's being chased by a fox.

Wells steps towards her immediately. "Are you alright? What's happened?" Concern etching his face.

"One of the…he…he attacked me…I didn't want…"

Wells face closes into a scowl. "Who?"

The girl steps behind Wells as Murphy comes walking up, his face dark, his eyes locked on the girl.

Wells eyes swing to meet Bellamy's, who is watching the proceedings with a blank face. "You can stop this!"

Bellamy's lips twitch up again and he cocks his head to the side, as if the idea amuses him. Patronizingly he says, "Stop this? I'm just getting started."

Out of nowhere, Wells's face is rocked to the side by a fist, causing him to falter slightly. He regains his footing just in time to dodge Murphy's next jab. With a swift uppercut to the gut, Wells sends him temporarily crumpling to the ground. Wiping the spit from his jaw, Wells says, "Don't you see you can't control this?!"

Behind Wells, Murphy curls forward until he's on one knee. Keeping his eyes on Wells's back, he slides his hand down his pant leg and quickly pulls a makeshift knife out of his boot. Bellamy sees this and steps forward.

"Hold on." Reaching down to his belt, Bellamy draws his own knife and holds it up. "Fair fight," he says simply, handing the knife to Wells.

Wells pauses a moment, calculating what his odds are of being able to get out of this fight, before he takes the knife. He is resolved. If this is what he has to do to survive, then he will fight to the death. The two boys circle around each other, one wary, the other exuding confidence in his desire to destroy. Murphy swipes the air in front of him experimentally, testing Wells's reaction time, until he feints, causing Wells to dodge directly into Murphy's blade. A hiss and an intake of breath are all he gets from Wells, as blood from the slice starts to drip down his arm. Confident Murphy's got him, he lunges at Wells, but this time Wells is prepared and quickly maneuvers him into a headlock, holding his knife against Murphy's bare throat.

"Wells! Let him go!" All heads turn to Clarke, who comes running through the tall grass towards them, followed by Finn, Octavia and Monty.

As Wells shoves Murphy out of his hold and away from him, Bellamy rushes towards Octavia, noticing the stricken look on her face. "Octavia! Are you alright?" Once he's scanned her with his eyes and sees no obvious damage he adds, "Where's the food?"

"We didn't make it far enough," Finn states, sitting down to catch his breath.

"Then what the hell happened out there?"

That's when Bellamy notices the look on the princess's face. Her face is strained, tense, and her eyes pierce him. "We were attacked."

Wells watches Clarke with concern. "Attacked? By what?"

Finn sighs. "Not what. Who. Turns out when they told us this is virgin soil, they didn't know jack."

Clarke's voice is tight and controlled. "It's true. Everything that we thought we knew is wrong. There are people here. The good news is that means people can survive out here. The climate won't kill us." A crowd of people have started to gather, drawn by the strength of Clarke's voice.

Finn cuts in, "Yeah, the bad news is whoever's out there will."

After a moment of silence, as Finn's statement seeps in, Wells looks at the returning group and notices something. "Where's the kid with the goggles?"

Clarke feels a moment of appreciation for Wells…he was always remembering others. She clears her throat. "Jasper was hit…They took him." Silence. "We need to contact home immediately."

Bellamy's eyebrows shoot up and he yells, "What?! No. They sent us out here to die!"

"They need to know that there are people out here! We need their help!" Clarke resists the urge to take a step back as Bellamy advances on her.

"They won't help! They'll chalk it up as a lost cause and forget about us." Bellamy notices the crowd watching their argument and he angles his body out to face them "We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. We can take care of ourselves. They say they'll forgive our crimes. I say you're not criminals! We're fighters! Survivors! The natives should worry about _us_!"

With Bellamy's words, the crowd erupts into whoops and cheers. Clarke can see she's lost the battle and that arguing with Bellamy is going to be fruitless. If ever there was someone determined to keep his head stuck up his ass, it's him.

Monty quietly approaches her, worry written on his face. "What do we do now?"

Clarke takes a deep breath and looks back towards the trees. "Now we go after Jasper."

* * *

Clarke empties one of the sandbags from the train, repurposing the sack for the trek ahead. Running over logistics in her head, she doesn't hear Finn approach until he's standing just next to her.

"You ready," she asks. It's not even really a question. Standing up she swings her new rucksack over her shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere. And neither should you." At the shocked look on Clarke's face, Finn continues, "Those arrows were shot with deadly accuracy!"

Clarke's eyebrows scrunch together in disbelief. "So we just let Jasper die?"

"He's probably already dead, Clarke. There are other people…living ones…to think about. You need to let it go."

"That's not going to happen." Clarke pulls away from his outstretched hand. "You think you're some carefree adventurer guy…living on the edge…always up for a good time…and you're really just a coward."

As Clarke pushes past him, Finn tries again. "It's not an adventure, Clarke. It's a suicide mission."

She doesn't even turn around. Wells stands up from where he was watching the conversation and makes to follow her. "Build a wall," he tells Finn. "Use fallen trees from the forest. I'll watch out for her."

Clarke approaches the Blake siblings, where Bellamy is tending to some lacerations on Octavia's leg. She must've fallen when they fled the river. It's an oddly intimate moment, Clarke realizes, to see happening between such hard people…their heads bent together, talking quietly. As she gets closer, she hears what they're saying.

"Jasper looked up to you," Octavia says quietly.

"You could've been killed," Bellamy states, but not as harshly as Clarke would expect. Octavia notices Clarke and Wells and quickly tries to stand up.

"You guys leaving? I'm coming too."

Bellamy's hands are her arms steady her and keep her from walking any further. "No way. Not again."

"He's right," Clarke agrees. "Your leg is just going to slow us down." She turns to Bellamy. "I'm here for you. I hear you have a gun." She waits as Bellamy pulls up the hem of his shirt, revealing the Colt single action army revolver tucked in his waistband. "Good," she continues. "Follow me."

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to draw Clarke's attention to his muscular biceps. "And why would I do that?"

She doesn't even spare them a glance as she steps towards him with a sweet expression on her face. "Because you want them to follow you…and right now, they're thinking that only one of us is scared."

Bellamy's look of amusement drops. Their gazes battle for what feels like forever to Clarke, but she stands her ground. Reluctantly, Bellamy orders Murphy to come with him and Adam to guard his sister. Clarke ignores Wells's look of disapproval.

"These guys are criminals," he says.

"I'm counting on it."

Once into the protected cover of the forest, Bellamy pulls his gun from his waist, spinning the chamber open and closed. "Hey, what's the rush? Goggles is probably dead by now…it's pretty hard to survive an arrow to the heart."

Clarke looks unimpressed. "If you're trying to intimidate me with that thing, you're going to have to try harder." Bellamy just grins. "Jasper screamed when they moved him. If an arrow had struck his heart, he'd have died instantly." When she notices he and Murphy have stopped walking she adds, "Doesn't mean we have time to waste."

"As soon as you give me the railroadafone, we can go." His smirk is starting to really grate on her nerves.

"Over my dead body," she growls. His eyes slowly move down from hers, scanning her lazily, improperly, lingering on the spot where a drop of sweat trickles between he breasts, taking note of her feminine figure, the attractive flush of exertion and temper that colors her chest and face.

"Brave princess," he says half admiringly, half mockingly. Clarke's caught off guard by the suddenly appreciative way his eyes move over her. No one has ever looked at her like that. No one on the plantation dared to…all the gentlemen who came to call on her had been just that…gentlemen. And she was so covered in grime from head to toe at the army camps and in prison that no one ever spared her a second glance. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she crosses her arms across her breasts, hoping Bellamy can't tell he's having any effect on her.

"Why don't you find your own nickname?" Finn's voice cuts through the silence and serves as a quick reminder to Clarke of what they're supposed to be doing. Finn must have noticed the way Bellamy was looking at her because he immediately suggests splitting up to cover more ground.

"Better late than never," Clarke whispers to him as they split off on their own, leaving Wells with Bellamy and Murphy. She doesn't take anytime to wonder whether the feeling blooming in her is relief or disappointment.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 _*I don't have a beta reading this through, so I'm doing my best to edit it myself. Apologies for how amateur this is! If anyone wants to be my beta, let me know, otherwise I'm just going to keep blindly moving forward. I also haven't gotten any reviews yet, so I'm really curious about how people feel. Is this setting working or does it all seem a little stretched? Reviews, positive or negative, are very much desired!_

After splitting up to try to catch any trail left by the natives who took Jasper, Clarke is valiantly trying to push back the fog of despair that she can feel waiting on the edge of her mind. Honestly, tracking isn't exactly her forte. Even though her father allowed her to play outside far more than her mother preferred, she still had been sheltered more than any male child would have been. Not for the first time, Clarke curses the circumstances of her gender, wishing she had been given more time to prepare for surviving in the world outside of the sprawling mansion she grew up in.

Looking around at the cottonwoods and scrubby underbrush surrounding her, she knows that even if she had been allowed to wander the property as a girl, she still wouldn't have had anyone to teach her. No one in their right mind would have thought her competent at anything other than the piano forte or needlepoint. Certainly her mother was more willing to let her daughter have some independence than most southern ladies she knew, what with allowing her to help in her father's medical practice…helping mend people who came from all over for his expertise and generosity.

After running away from home, disguising herself as a young boy and joining the union army, Clarke was given a boot camp education on survival under less than ideal circumstances. Still. She wishes she were more prepared.

"Clarke, look!" Clarke turns towards Finn's voice, remembering that he's been walking beside her for the last half hour or so. When she looks where he's pointing she sees where the flat river they've been following has formed a small oxbow of clear water. Clarke immediately takes her canteen and kneels down at the edge of the pool.

When she sees Finn take his shirt off and immediately wade into the water she says, "What are you doing? We don't have time for this!"

"It'll only take a second. Besides, I'm tired of smelling so ripe."

Clarke sighs and concedes. If she's as disgusted by the way she smells she can't help but wonder if everyone else is disgusted as well. The sun has been beating down on her all day and a quick dip couldn't hurt.

Setting down her pack next to Finn's and removing her boots, Clarke moves tentatively into the water.

"Stop acting like this is torture, Clarke. The water feels amazing."

Clarke smiles slightly as she feels the cool water soaking into her clothing and soothing her hot skin. "It's…not bad."

"You know, Princess, you'd be a lot happier if you relaxed once in a while." Finn moves towards her slowly through the water. Clarke's eyes are closed as she basks in the pool and doesn't notice Finn raise his arm and push a wall of water towards her, startling her and causing her eyes to fly open. A laugh erupts from her before she clamps her mouth closed. Finn looks at her in surprise and she realizes she hasn't laughed in a long time. But the carefree feeling doesn't last long when Clarke glimpses over Finn's shoulder and notices a bright red stain on the rocks on the other side of the pool.

Finn's eyes following her figure as she climbs out of the water, her drenched clothing sticking to her skin, aren't the only ones. From where Bellamy stands in the trees, he's momentarily transfixed. When he heard the splashes and came upon Clarke and Finn in the water, he was hoping he had finally found a moment of distraction when he could sneak over to her back and steal her radiofone. But the sound of her laugh had snagged his attention and he'd been unable to look away. Instead of the sour, haughty expression he associated with the princess, she looked kind of…beautiful. Glowing. And then when she had started to move out of the water, he had watched as each glorious inch of her shape was tantalizingly put on display through her mostly transparent clothing. First her ample breasts, which he'd already caught himself looking at earlier, then the dip in around her waist and the flare at the base of her spine, and then the curve of her hips. His mouth was suddenly dry and his throat hurt when he tried to swallow.

Twigs snapping behind him alerted him that the rest of his group had arrived. Not wanting to be caught gawking, Bellamy snapped his jaw shut and adopted his signature smug expression before turning towards Wells, who was also looking wide-eyed at the figure across the pool. So. At least he wasn't the only one.

"Guess we have more in common than meets the eye, huh?"

His words snapped Wells's attention back to him. "We have nothing in common."

"No?" Bellamy smirked. "We both came down here to protect someone we love." Wells's eyes flickered towards Clarke before settling back on Bellamy's face. "Your secret is safe with me." Now that he wasn't enthralled by the image of Clarke, familiar anger started to move back into its place. He had no business thinking about her. It would never happen. He didn't want it to happen. "Of course, for you it's worse…With Finn around Clarke doesn't even see you. It's like you're not even her."

Finn was now crouching next to Clarke next to a rock, touching his fingers against something and bringing them to his nose, before turning to her and saying, "We're close." Clarke nodded at Finn and followed him away from the pool.

"See? You're invisible," Bellamy reminded Wells. He knew those words would bother Wells, but he hadn't counted on not only feeling invisible to her himself, but how much it'd piss him off.

* * *

After following the tracks of blood, snapped twigs and crushed underbrush, the group finds themselves on the edge of a clearing.

"I volunteer you guys to go first. We'll wait here," Murphy jokes, looking to Bellamy for a laugh. Before anyone has the opportunity to tell him to shut up, the group hears a moan carried by the breeze. Jasper.

"He's alive!" Clarke darts out of the safety of the tree line and runs towards the large tree standing alone in the center of the clearing. It's enormous and must be several hundred years old. Its warped arms only seem more sinister when Bellamy notices a body attached to the trunk fifteen feet up. Without thinking he starts running forward, following Clarke straight towards the tree. Suddenly he hears a cry and her blonde head disappears into the grass. Diving forward blindly, Bellamy reaches out for her and grasps her hand just as she plummets into a huge hole in the ground. Her eyes are wide with terror as she looks down at the spikes lining the bottom of the pit, before raising them to meet his. For a moment, he feels nothing but her hand, her weight pulling him forward and for the tiniest, briefest second he wonders if he should let go.

She must have seen what he thought in that moment in his gaze because she goes from desperately pleading with her eyes for his help to squaring her jaw, almost as if she half expects him to let her go. Just as he clenches his grip around her small hand even tighter, preparing to pull her up, Finn and Wells collide with him, helping to pull his body back from the edge of the pit and wildly grabbing for Clarke.

For a moment, the four of them sit panting in the trampled grass, but there's no time to catch one's breath, as they're reminded when Jasper lets out another strangled moan. Acting as quickly as possible, Finn climbs up into the tree and unties the ropes holding Jasper suspended. Bellamy climbs halfway up to meet him and takes Jasper's weight as Finn gently tries to lower the unconscious boy.

Clarke is waiting on the ground at the foot of the tree. She immediately begins to examine the wounds of Jasper's back where the arrow shafts had punctured him. After gently prodding his wounds, her fingers come back sticky, but not with blood. "There's a poultice on his wounds."

Finn kneels down next to her. "Medicine? Why would they save his life just to string him up as live bait?"

Bellamy glances around the clearing for clues. "Maybe what they're trying to catch likes its dinner breathing."

Quietly Finn says, "Maybe what they're trying to catch is us."

"This doesn't make any sense. We haven't seen any signs of carnivorous predators. They aren't trying to catch an animal," Clarke slows as she concentrates on Jasper's wounds. "We don't have time for this. We need to get him back to the safety of the camp before anyone else shows up."

Some rustling in the brush on the other side of the tree alerts Bellamy that something else has in fact shown up and is now probably hunting them. More rustling. A low grunting noise. He reaches for the gun in his waistband and when his hand grasps at empty air his lungs seize in panic.

Shots rings out next to his head and he has to force his eyes to stay open to see Wells holding his pistol, shooting into the brush until it empties and the gun clicks on an empty barrel. Wells lowers his arm, his breathing labored, arm shaking slightly. Bellamy slowly stands and makes his way to the now quiet brush, pushing some thorny branches and brambles aside to see the carcass of a large boar. Glancing back at Wells, he sees that Clarke is now staring directly at the boy with the gun. A pang on jealousy runs through him, but he shoves it back.

Snorting, he slaps Wells on the shoulder and says, "Now she sees you."

* * *

Clarke wanders away from the revelry of the camp. She feels sick to her stomach. After getting Jasper back to the relative safety of the camp now formed amongst the overturned railway cars, she noticed Bellamy wasted no time in claiming the boar as his kill before "magnanimously" letting everyone share in his bounty. She shivers as she remembers the look in his eyes when he had held her suspended over those spikes. Calculating. Cold. Ruthless. She's going to have to keep her eyes on him. She brushes that thought aside, knowing she has more important things to deal with. Remembering the last couple of hours spent trying to clean Jasper's wounds and bandage them with no proper medical supplies makes her head hurt and she doesn't see the young girl in the grass until she almost trips over her.

As Clarke takes a closer look at the figure, she can see the girl is even younger than she thought. Her limp brown hair is pulled back in two lumpy braids and dirt stains her face, neck and hands. Clarke is momentarily struck by how no girl that young could have done something bad enough to warrant being sent into the wilderness to die. When she notices the girl shaking, she leans down and gently shakes her awake.

"It's okay. It was just a dream. What's your name? I'm Clarke." The girl still watches her warily. "It's okay to be scared. Do you want to talk about it?"

Finally the girl speaks. "Charlotte. My name's Charlotte." She looks away, a couple of tears drip down her face and splash on the ground. "It's…my parents. They were killed and I…I see them in my dreams and I just…" Her throat catches and more tears stream down her face.

Thoughts of her father's face as his body dangled from the tree flood her mind. She had known he was helping slaves escape north and she hadn't stopped him. She knew her mother didn't agree with his politics and staunchly refused to believe that slaves were people too. But Clarke had believed in him. She had believed in the humanity of his actions and that he was doing the right thing. And he had died because she had trusted the wrong person with that information.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke nods. "I understand. My father was killed too. Hanged." Charlotte lifts her head and bites her lip, looking at Clarke's face as if trying to figure out how trustworthy she is. "So, how did you end up here?"

Charlotte sighs. "My parents worked their whole lives for what they had. And nobody even cared when they died. But then they came around saying that my parents owed money. They were…taking their things away to pay off the expenses and I…kind of lost it." Her voice quieted. "They said I assaulted an officer of the law."

Leaning her shoulder towards Charlotte, Clarke says conspiratorially, "I can't say I blame you." Trying to change the course of the conversation she points with his chin towards the sky. "See that bright star up there? That's the North Star. The same one you could see if you looked up at the sky back home. But, I think that whatever happened back there…the pain…maybe we could move past that now. Maybe being out here is our second chance."

Charlotte is staring almost hungrily at Clarke now. "Do you really believe that?" Clarke can hear how badly the girl wants to believe.

Knowing she can only offer this girl the truth, she says simply, "I'm trying to." From the way Charlotte's head droops slightly Clarke can see that wasn't the answer the girl was hoping for. Another tear rolls down her cheek, leaving a slightly clean path down her dirt-smeared face, before leaning slightly against Clarke.

Clarke knows she can't offer this girl any answers, but at least she can offer the comfort of not being alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Forgive me, this chapter is a little short, but I'm getting ready to travel to Montana for a week, so things are a little out of whack around here. We're creeping up on the pivotal moment when Bellamy really** _ **sees**_ **Clarke...with all her compassion and strength. I'm trying to incorporate more historical context...including some words I would never use in contemporary life. Let me know if anything works for you or seems to be really out of place. I love reviews!**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

Bellamy raises the sapling bow, pulls back on the string until it's taut, his right hand brushing his cheekbone, and gazes down the sight of the arrow. Twenty yards from him a sack of straw is propped up, already riddled with holes from the hour or so of target practice. He takes a deep, calming breath and is about to let the arrow fly when a cry of pain pierces the air, causing his arm to jerk and his arrow to pierce the ground not more than 5 feet in front of him.

"Fuck." He trudges forward to snatch the arrow out of the grass.

"Somebody needs to shut that kid up," Murphy pipes up behind him. When Bellamy glares a little at him he adds, "Morale is pretty low around here. And that dying kid isn't helping."

Bellamy says in a way he's hoping won't brook an argument, "Morale will go up when I find them more food." What little game Bellamy had been able to scare up was proving to be insufficient to feed 100 hungry adolescents. That was the whole point of target practice. Well, not the entire point. With Jasper getting shot and them finding him strung up like bait, Bellamy's worries about hostile natives had only escalated. And step number one to keeping control of the camp was making everyone think he wasn't worried. If Murphy is thinking it, Bellamy muses, probably everyone else is too.

At another shriek, Bellamy sees his sister go running and decides it's time for action. Climbing into the rail car that the princess had claimed as her own personal sickroom, Bellamy hears arguing.

"You're killing him!" Octavia cries.

"His wounds are infected and could be septic…the natives cauterized them and saved his life, but we have to get them clean!" Turning back to Wells and Monty, Clarke orders them to hold him still while she heats a knife over an open flame. The sleeves of her blouse are rolled up, exposing her smooth pale arms as she works.

When Octavia tries to move forward to pull Clarke away from Jasper's thrashing body, Wells reaches out and stops the brunette. "She's trying to save him."

Annoyance floods Bellamy at seeing anyone laying a hand on his sister and he decides it's time to intervene before any more time is wasted on goggles. "She can't."

At his words, Clarke whips her head around and glares, before clenching her jaw and turning back towards Jasper. She sure knows how to look pissed off. "We didn't drag him through miles of woods just to let him die," she says with her back to him.

He feels a moment of sympathy for her. She evidently cares about this kid. He wonders for a moment if they knew each other back in the prison. Maybe they were friends. But it's her own choice to let sentimentality get in the way of practicality. "The kids a goner," he tries to say quietly. "If you can't see that, you're deluded." When she doesn't respond, he adds, "He's making people crazy."

He sees her spine stiffen at his words and prepares for her to argue with him. "I apologize if Jasper is an inconvenience to you, but this isn't the army. Out here every life matters," she says coolly, wiping her hands on the small apron she's tied around her waist.

"Take a look at him. He's a lost cause!" Bellamy gestures towards the boy on the floor, whose skin has taken on a sickly green pallor.

Seeing she needs an ally, Clarke turns to Octavia, who is watching the proceedings with concern. "Octavia, I've spent my whole life watching my mother heal people. If I say there's hope…there's hope."

After a tense moment, Octavia brushes her long, brown hair behind her ears, nods briskly and joins Clarke next to Jasper.

"This isn't about hope," Bellamy cuts in, feeling angry that Octavia has chosen to trust someone who isn't him. "It's about guts. You don't have the guts to make the hard choices. I do. He's been like this for three days. If he's not better by tomorrow, I'll kill him myself. Octavia, let's go."

"I'm staying here."

Bellamy's surprise is evident and his brown eyes widen. "Seriously, O? Princess is mad…so you are too?"

"Everyone here has been treating me like a leper and I know who I have to thank for that. Next time you decide to go on a power trip, leave me out of it." Bellamy's expression tightens and he jumps down from the train car without a backward glance.

"Power hungry, self-serving jackass," Wells mutters. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself." After remembering the presence of Bellamy's sister, he adds, "No offense."

"Yeah, well, he's the only family I've got. You don't get to choose your family."

 _Clarke enters her father's study. The dark wood bookshelves and the smell of his leather chair make her feel peaceful…at home. She knows she's not supposed to linger in his private quarters and that she should be doing any of a myriad of boring feminine tasks designed to make her a more desirable matrimonial candidate, but sometimes the lure of her father proves too much. Today she's spent several hours lounging on the small settee under the large window that looks out on the veranda of beautiful South Carolina countryside, reading as much as she can get her hands on._

 _Hearing her mother's voice from the entryway, Clarke scrambles off of the sedan and ducks underneath her father's large desk just in time._

" _Jacob, what are you thinking?!" her mother's voice is strained. "They are our bread and butter."_

" _Abigail, we can make a living another way."_

" _No, we can't! This entire family is built on the labor of negros! Just because you have suddenly imagined yourself a bleeding heart does not change our circumstances!"_

 _Clarke watches her father's boots walk into view. "The risk is worth it, Abigail. They deserve more than being worked to death against their wills."_

" _They don't know what's good for them! Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if we just left them all to their own devices! They're like children…"_

" _They are human beings! You can't have it both ways. Either they are children and we're exploiting them or they are fully realized people who deserve every opportunity you and I have!"_

" _For all that is good and holy, Jacob, I forbid you from continuing to print and distribute this…abolitionist nonsense!" Papers flutter to the floor and Clarke realizes her mother must have thrown them at her father. The words "Freedman's Aid Society" stood out in bold type all over the wood floor._

" _Have you forgotten what happened to John Brown?!" She can hear the anxiety in her mother's voice climbing as her father remains silent. Suddenly her mother's voice drops drastically. "And don't think I don't know about you helping some of them get north. Not only have you put yourself in danger, but you're endangering the life of our daughter."_

 _Clarke could hear her father draw in a hiss. "Abby…don't you understand? I'm doing this for Clarke…" Her mother's skirts swish as she turns abruptly and exits the office, leaving Clarke and her father alone._

Clarke shakes her head and tries to dispel the memory. No one knows as much about family disappointment as her, but moping about it isn't going to help Jasper stay alive.

"If he wants to think Jasper's a lost cause, he can go ahead. He's wrong. Whatever the stuff is that the natives used on his wounds has to be found somewhere nearby. We just need to find it." Lifting her hand to her nostrils, she sniffs the residue from one of Jasper's wounds. "I think it's feverwort."

Wells leaned in and helpfully said, "The native tribes back east used it for healing…before they died out, I think."

"It must not have worked all that well…since they all died," Octavia added glumly. "But if you think that might be it…then you need to go out and find more."

"You're right." Clarke stood and wiped her hands down the front of her apron, unrolling her sleeves and fastening her collar up in preparation for the hot sun and the mosquitoes that seemed unavoidable out here. When she noticed Wells standing, she snapped, "Finn. You can come with me."

Wells's eyebrows shot up. "Hey! I know what this stuff looks like…do you?" After a potent silence, he continues, "You know, you should really rethink this whole hating me thing. It's not just the natives. We're surrounded by criminals. We need each other."

Sucking in her cheeks to keep herself from laughing obnoxiously at him, Clarke looks at him with a look of disdain. "You got my father killed. Not possible."

Shoving past him to the exit of the train, she doesn't hear him respond, "This is the west, Clarke. Anything is possible."

* * *

Bellamy and Adam are in the forest when they notice a strange greenish light has fallen over everything. Looking up at the sky that they can see through the canopy, Adam points at a wall of clouds approaching. The wind has picked up and small, hard chunks of earth are being carried by it, pelting Bellamy as he begins to run towards the clearing. One of the flying pieces nicks Bellamy's right cheek, leaving an icy sting behind. Trusting that Adam is behind him, he struggles to see what's in front of him with each step, almost not notice the figure in front of him until he collides with it.

"Who the hell are you?" he yells. The wind is now so loud that he isn't able to hear the response, so he grabs whoever it is and stumbles forwards a couple of feet, shoving them in front of him under a large toppled tree sticking out of the earth. Bellamy yells for Adam a few times, but is unable to hear anything back. The partially lifted roots create a small windbreak and after his eyes adjust, Bellamy turns to find a small girl with limp brown hair pulled into two braids. He doesn't remember seeing her before, so he asks again, "Who are you?"

The girl takes a moment, pushing the dead leaves to the side to create a small space for herself. "Charlotte," she answers timidly.

"Why aren't you back at camp?"

"That guy who was dying…I just…couldn't anymore. I figured I'd hunt." Understanding dawns on Bellamy's face.

"Hunting's too dangerous out here for a little girl."

"I'm not little." It's clear she's not in the mood to be patronized and her quick, fierce response reminds him instantly of Octavia when she was younger.

Recognizing a kindred fighting spirit, Bellamy nods. "Okay then…but you can't be away from camp without a weapon." Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulls out a pocket knife with a small stallion carved on the handle. "Ever killed something before?" She shakes her head and he smiles. "Who knows? Maybe you're good at it." His mind drifts to Octavia and Adam, hoping they both found shelter from the storm.

After an hour has passed, Bellamy is woken in the dark by a series of whimpers. Realizing the noises are coming from Charlotte, he reaches over and grasps her shoulder, loosely shaking her awake.

"Charlotte, wake up," he says softly. He's had a lot of experience waking little girls up in the middle of nightmares and finds himself pretending he's back in his mother's small cabin helping Octavia out of the nightmares that plagued her because their mother is up at the big house with the master. "Does that happen often?" He can tell from the way Charlotte refuses to look at him that the answer is yes. "Know what? Doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it."

She tilts her head in confusion. "But I'm asleep…"

"Fears are fears. Slay your demons when you're awake…they won't be there to get you when you sleep."

She appears to mull this over. "But how?"

"You can't afford to be weak. Down here, weakness is death…fear is death." Bellamy is transported back to a pitch black night in a cramped cabin, giving this same speech to a terrified six-year-old Octavia, who was scared of sleeping alone in the dark. "Let me see that pocket knife I gave you. When you feel afraid, you hold tight to that knife and you say, 'screw you, I'm not afraid,'".

As he watches Charlotte's small hand wrap around the hilt of his pocket knife, he sees it being clutched by Octavia…her hands shaking…combatting the terror she felt every time she had to sleep under the floorboards of their cabin for fear of it being searched in the night. Bellamy looks on approvingly as both girls repeat his words once and then again stronger. When he's satisfied he says, "Slay your demons, kid. Then you'll be able to sleep."

Less than a mile away, Clarke, Finn and Wells are pinned down in the same windstorm…or as Finn calls it, the same tornado. Because they were on their way back from foraging for feverwort, they were able to duck into a small cave they had spotted on their way out. Although the cave blocks most of the wind and debris, the small space leaves a lot to be desired in terms of personal space, and Clarke is starting to get antsy.

"We should make a run for it. Jasper can't wait much longer."

"We got tornadoes every once in a while back in Ohio," Finn reiterated for maybe the fourth time. "We're just going to have to wait it out." At Clarke's pointed look he adds, "Us dying in a tornado from hell isn't going to help Jasper."

After fifteen minutes of awkward silence interrupted by Clarke's huffs of impatience, Finn reaches into his knapsack and pulls out a flask, offering some to Clarke and Wells.

"Whiskey," he states simply.

"We'll pass," Wells waves off the flask. Clarke has never had whiskey and is irked by the way Wells answered for her. She narrows her eyes at him and snatches the flask from Finn's hand, who smirks in response. As she takes a swig, the first taste burns and she almost coughs it back up. But she finds that it quickly drives a line straight to her core, seeming to send waves of relaxation through her sore limbs, so she keeps tipping it back. She's not sure how much time has passed.

"How long has it been? Jasper…" she tries to get a grip on reality again.

"Jasper's in good hands," Finn reassures her. "Octavia will take care of him."

"While we're on the subject…why is it that everyone thinks me wanting Jasper to _not_ die is a bad thing…like I'm such a downer. I can be fun." Turning to Finn she asks, "You think I'm fun, right?"

There's a pregnant pause and she can't tell if Finn's answer is sarcastic or not when he says, "Oh yeah. Among other things."

She can see Finn's brown eyes running over her, taking in her appearance, and she suddenly feels self-conscious.

Wells cuts in hastily. "You're fun! You…you remember that time.."

Not wanting to hear any stories come spilling from Wells's mouth, she quickly cuts him off. "Remember that time you betrayed my trust and got my father lynched? Yeah, I remember. Where were we? Fun." She can see her words have hurt Wells, but she finds she can't stop. "But since you brought it up…and I didn't…because I don't want to talk about it…" Okay, maybe that's a stretch... "What were you thinking?"

Wells looks down at his lap and picks some pieces of grass off the front of his trousers. "I made a mistake, Clarke."

It takes a moment for his words to register. His totally inadequate words. "I made a mistake, Clarke?" she repeats incredulously, her blue eyes watering. "Not good enough. You know…I bet you couldn't wait to go public with it. The fantastic Jahas…rising up and showing the world the hypocrisy of the southern gentry. Throwing off the yoke of the white man and finally taking your rightful places in society…running the union's largest prison. I bet your daddy thanked you for making that all possible by spreading rumors that Jacob Griffin was helping slaves escape. Who cares if his peers lynched him for it?!"

"What do you want me to say?!" Wells yells unexpectedly.

Clarke tries to swallow, hoping her voice will come out steadier, but it still comes out shaky and weak. "I want an explanation."

Wells stares back at her, his brown skin flushed. "I can't give you one. I thought I could trust him."

"Well, I thought I could trust my best friend. I guess we were both wrong." Clarke wipes the back of her hand across her cheeks, trying to get rid of her traitorous tears.

"I'm still your friend." Wells's brown eyes are enormous and pleading with her.

"No, you're not. And maybe you never were."

 **Please review! It'll make me update more quickly!**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

 _Griffin Plantation, South Carolina_

 _Clarke slowly entered her father's study and shut the dark wooden door behind her. She leaned back against the panel for a moment, taking strength from its solid form, and waited for her father to lift his head from his work._

 _"_ _Are you going to stand there like a frightened mouse or come over here and tell me what's on your mind?"_

 _His words brought a smile to her lips. She'd never hear her mother express such sentiments. Despite the fact that Abigail Griffin had to be one of the most opinionated people in all the world, she continued to insist that expressing such opinions was the epitome of trashy behavior. Women were expected to be gracious, demure, chaste and pleasing to the eyes. While Clarke had always felt lucky to not have to worry about her looks, what with inheriting her father's wavy blonde hair, which was so fashionable nowadays, and her mother's piercing blue eyes, she knew her appearance would never be her strongest suit._

 _But when it came to Jacob Griffin, he couldn't be more proud of his daughter than when she was stubborn and tenacious. He claimed she came by it honestly and that her same stubborn streak was what made him fall in love with a sharp-tongued Abigail two decades ago._

 _Stepping away from the door and taking a deep breath, Clarke tried to broach the subject she had been obsessively worrying over since she overheard her parents' argument a week ago. "Papa, I know what you're doing…I heard you and Mama arguing."_

 _Her father didn't lift his head, but she saw his shoulders and neck tense as he processed her words. "Okay. So you know. It's best you pretend you don't."_

 _"_ _You know I can't do that. You wouldn't be able to and neither can I." His silence caused her to throw her head back, square her shoulders, and try to forge ahead with confidence. "What is your plan of action?"_

 _"_ _You don't need to know the plan," he said quietly into the paperwork he was frozen above._

 _Clarke maneuvered around a chair and attempted to sit down, despite the protest of the new corset and hoop skirt her mother had recently insisted she start wearing. "I'm not stupid, Papa. You're clearly coming up with a public statement right now, which leads me to think that you're going to somehow get it printed in the Charleston newspaper, proving you either have a death wish or low intelligence."_

 _She felt a moment of satisfaction as her father dropped his papers and sat back in his chair, until he spoke. "You are picking a fine moment to unleash your irreverence on me. I suppose telling you to mind your elders won't do much good…"_

 _"_ _I'm going to help you." At his look of utter disbelief, Clarke threw her head back cockily. "I can!"_

 _"_ _Absolutely not!" Jumping up from his desk and rounding on her, her father grasped her chin and smiled ruefully, looking down at her face with a mixture of affection and sadness. "No, Clarke. I can see you getting ready to fight me on this, but this is a thing I must do alone. You get that fire from your Mama, you know. One of the many things I love about both of you." Drawing her forward into his embrace, she rested her cheek against the linen of his jacket and listened to his deep breaths. She felt helpless and wanted desperately to be a little girl again so she could cry and stay wrapped up in her daddy's arms where everything was safe and nothing could go wrong._

 _But she wasn't a little girl anymore. And within one month, not only would Jacob Griffin be hanged by his peers after rumors spread that he was an abolitionist who was helping his neighbors' slaves escape, but Clarke's entire life would be torn apart by war._

 **Author's note:**

 **Sorry for such a short chapter, but I'm having a hard time motivating myself to continue this story. I know we haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet, so I'm hoping that once I get into the meatier part of the story I'll be feeling more inspired.**

 **Any feedback, reviews, love in general would surely do wonders to kick my butt into moving this thing forward! I'm beginning to feel like no one is reading this...**


End file.
